


Mama Knows Best

by noacejustyou (thewhalesaid)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 03:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhalesaid/pseuds/noacejustyou
Summary: tumblr prompt: Kent “this seemed like a good idea but halfway through I realized I have made a terrible mistake but mamma didn’t raise a quitter” Parson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://holsteryerguns.tumblr.com/post/153754099692/i-couldnt-help-myself-im-just-livin-life), based off [this](http://agrossunderstatement.tumblr.com/post/147511238859/kent-this-seemed-like-a-good-idea-but-halfway) post by @agrossunderstatement on tumblr. all mistakes are my own, no beta, all characters don't belong to me, I just care too much about Kent.

“ ‘Cause Mamma didn’t raise no quitter !” Kent Parson shouts, kneeling in front of the Stanley Cup, registering the flashes of camera phones as Swoops helps him pour champagne directly from the Stanley Cup to his mouth.

He’s smiling so big it’s actually taking concentration to chug the bubbly,  but he doesn’t care too much. It’s not the first booze that’ll be spilt on his face, on his jersey, and it’s certainly not going to be the last. He takes a last big gulp, stands up, and throws his hands in the air as he whoops, thinking to himself: _this is it. Nothing will ever feel this good._

* * *

 

( “ Hng – Kenny, please, ” Jack breathes out, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. Kent hides his grin by nuzzling it into Jack’s thigh, peppering kisses as muscle twitches under his mouth.

“ Please what ?” he asks, shifting up to nip at his hipbone.

“ Please – Let me come – this isn’t a – competition, ” is the response, and Kent shifts down to nuzzle at Jack’s pubic hair.

“ Why not ? You made me come four times last hatty, I’m just returning the favour. You’ve got one more in you, don’t you ?” he draws out, sliding his hands up Jack’s sides as he uses the leverage to hoist himself up and kiss Jack, who kisses him back like he’s starved for it.

“ You don’t need to – I don’t – I can’t, ” Jack breathes out, between the clinks of their teeth and Kent’s hips, rolling slowly back over Jack’s erection.

“ Yes, you can, ” he murmurs, kissing him much softer than he’d expected, before making his way back down his chest. There’s a glint to his wink, as he looks up, locking eyes with Jack. “ And I will, because it’s polite. And my mom didn’t raise a quitter. ” With that, he swallows Jack down, saving and categorizing the wrecked moan it draws from the other boy – because that sound ? He wants it saved forever. )

* * *

 

( He’s gone too far, he’s said too much. He’s starting to regret his words, but his shirt is tucked out of his pants, and Jack is just there – Jack is here and he’s not smiling. He’s not saying yes, he’s not falling back into Kent’s arms the way Kent’s stumbling, blindly, into  his. He’s – fuck. Jack’s not here anymore. Zimms is gone.

He’s gone too far, he sees the look on Jack’s face, sees the hurt, sees the anger, and he knows he has to do something before those teeth, that mouth he ( still ) tells himself he loves so much come biting back at him.

 _‘Cause Mamma didn’t raise a damned quitter_ , he thinks to himself bitterly, take a step away. He’s got to bite, because he opens the door and sees the blonde kid, the kid who looks like sunshine and warm smiles, and Kent knows: he feels it, with a pang to his heart, that as much as he hurts Jack, this kid will be here to put him back together.

“ I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud, ” he says, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. If Jack feels just a fraction of the pain Kent feels now, it’ll be worth it, he tells himself. He can’t take it back now. )

* * *

“ Ma didn’t raise a quitter, ” is Kent’s statement after the Providence v Aces game, his cocky grin and loosened shoulders the only thing hiding the fact that he’s still drumming with adrenaline, partially from seeing Zimmermann again, partially from his goal, mostly from being picked up one handed by a Russian beast as if it was nothing. It’s almost exciting enough to get him to forget the fact that Jack didn’t even look  him in the eye, almost.

* * *

Kent barely acknowledges that the club is playing Britney, and is about to voice these thoughts, when a set of shots get placed on the bar counter. He’s got a bruise forming on his jaw from dropped gloves, matching the pink on the knuckles over his shoulder, Alexei Mashkov draped alongside him – he’s drunk enough to barely acknowledge the fact that he’s solely surrounded by Falconers at this point, the Aces watching from down the bar as their captain leans into Mashkov.

“ Come, little rat. Another shot ?” The Russian taunts, laughing at what’s now become their overused nicknames for each other. Kent grins – he never was good at resisting a challenge, much less one coming from his so-called NHL rival. He grins, opening his mouth, but Mashkov beats him to it. With an eyebrow raised, he leans down ( good lord, how tall is he ?), and smirks. “ Unless, you already too drunk ? Little man, cannot handle as much alcohol. I understand, it’s okay. Will call a cab for you. ”

Kent laughs, loud and surprisingly carefree, as he elbows the bruise he hopes is forming on Alexei’s side, and reaches over to hand the man a shot. “ Hey, my mom may have raised me a lot of ways, but she taught me how to swing, and didn’t raise a fuckin’ quitter, ” he shoots back, knocking their glasses together and taking the shot.

He blacks out after that, but wakes up in the bathtub of Todd’s hotel room, and the mark on the hollow of his throat seems more like a hickey than a punch. He grins as his fingers ghost over it, gets a glimpse of memory: Alexei’s grin as he mentions he’s six foot four, and promptly throws up bright blue in the toilet bowl.

* * *

Kent wakes up in comfortable hotel sheets, practically melting against the mattress, with a large, warm hand on his bare ass. He grunts, wiping away a small trail of drool before he turns and smothers his face into hard muscle and chest hair. His body aches, that perfect fucked-nine-ways-till-Sunday ache, and he feels like he could sleep ten more hours. So, he does.

Next time he wakes up, his hangover has diminished, and Alexei has rolled them over so he’s covered by two hundred and twenty pounds of warm, Russian muscle. He grunts, shifting slightly, but Alexei’s arms tighten around him, and he can feel a sleepy smile against his shoulder.

“ Such little man, ” Alexei rumbles, voice low and sending a shiver down Kent’s spine, “ How you wear me out when you’re as small ?”

Kent huffs, unable to find it in himself to be insulted, and stretches out. “ Endurance and stamina, ” he mumbles.

“ And dirty tricks. Just like in hockey. ”

Kent grins, reaching to slide his hands up the expanse of Mashkov’s back, and he nods. “ And perseverance. ” Alexei grunts, leaning in to kiss his jaw, movements as gentle as they were hard the night before.

“ Good. Your mother not raise a quitter, right ?”

Kent’s laugh is light, happy, and Alexei captures it with his lips easily. “ She did not. ”

* * *

Kent’s freaking out, hands shaking as he tries to stuff as much as he can into his duffel bag. He drove fast, but not fast enough – Alexei’s going to be coming through the front door any moment now, probably angry and ready to break up with him. It’s all he can do, pack his bags quick, and be gone by the time the Russian storms in.

He loses precious time trying to find his favourite sleep shirt, and when the door slams open, he jumps.

“ Kent, you leave dinner – “ Alexei starts, rounding the corner and stopping short, and Kent knows what he must look like. A deer in the headlights, his hair a mess, still in the blazer he was wearing because this was supposed to be a Nice Night and he had to go and ruin it. All his fear and anxiety had just bubbled over, and he could tell they were going to get into an argument, so he left. This is what he does, isn’t it ? He commits to things and realizes too late that he shouldn’t have.

“ So this how you leave me ?” Alexei asks, his voice flat, but firm. There’s hurt in his eyes, but there’s something else. It looks like determination, it looks like … _something_ , but Kent looks away before he has to stare at them any longer. He doesn’t want to make this any harder than it should be, then it already is.

“ It’s … I … “ he starts, grasping at the words, every inch of his body shouting at him to fight or get the fuck out of there. Or both.

“ It’s look like it. You leave me, your stupid duffel on bed that we share. This how you want it ?” Alexei asks again, all the questions Kent hoped he’d never have to answer.

“ Or, “ he continues, surprising Kent enough that his eyes dart back up, realizing the other man has taken a step forward, “ You leave because you think it’s what I’m wanting. You do this for you, or for me, Kent Parson ? Because if answer is for me, I do not let you leave. “ And oh, that’s definitely determination in his voice, his shoulders set in a way that lets Kent know he’s not fucking around.

“ ‘Lex, it’s not that. It’s. You don’t want to be with me. I’m not through all of my shit, and I don’t want to dump that on you – that’s not what you want, “ he starts, as honest as he can be, but Alexei shakes his head.

“ Excuses are bullshit, Kent. You know I’m here for your shit, to help you through it. You wake up every day, and I still here. You are wanting more proof ?” Alexei takes a step forward, and Kent takes one back.

“ No, it’s not. You don’t have to prove anything, don’t you get that ? It’s me. I can’t prove that I’m right for you, or good enough for you, and I can’t … I can’t prove that I deserve you – “

Alexei crosses the room in three massive steps, crowding Kent up in his arms before the blond can even think of bolting. He’s vaguely aware of the wetness on his cheeks, watching in awe as Alexei’s thumb brushes his tears into his cheekbones. “ Kent, “ the man whispers, “ Stop. “

And Kent would, he really would. Every bone in his body tells him to listen, to stop, but he just can’t. Alexei deserves better, and he, fuck. He loves him enough to want what’s best from him, which is probably the only thing he’s learned from the Fucked Up Files labeled Jack Zimmermann. He doesn’t want to listen to the other man, because Lex is wrong, and Kent can never be what he needs.

“ I’m going to go, Tater, “ he whispers, making no moves to untangle himself from this embrace.

“ You don’t call me that like we being friends now, Kent, “ Alexei responds, fixing him with a look. The message is clear. There is no staying in each other’s lives if Kent walks away from this, and Kent feels himself pulling away.

“ Alexei, then, “ he says, voice shaking. “ Alexei. I’m going to go. I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later, but you. You know you … You know I’m right. “ Alexei’s arms fall limp at his sides, brown eyes sad, so sad, and Kent forces himself to look away once again. Either he looks away, or he stays. He grabs his duffel, zipping it shut, and he prays his voice isn’t as shaky as he feels when he murmurs: “ I hope you find someone for you. You deserve that, I just. Hope someone will make you smile. “

He makes it two steps when Alexei speaks again, stopping him in his tracks: “ Kent. “ There’s no argument in his words, his tone is level, voice thick. Kent’s brain is screaming at him to leave, leave before he stays and hurts this perfect wonder of a man, but his feet are rooted to the ground, hand gripping the strap in desperate attempt to keep the tears from falling freely. “Kent, “ Alexei repeats, and Kent swallows the lump in his throat, ready to shout and prove everyone right, that Kent Parson was reaching when he started this relationship, and it’s all finally crushing back down onto them. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the gut punch, waiting to have all his terrors splayed out in iced words and biting teeth, just like he deserves, but the blow never comes.

“ I meet your mother, Kenny. She fine woman. She deserving the respect you give, and she was not raising a quitter. You’re not getting to quit on me. I don’t let you. I won’t. “

Kent crumbles to the ground, and when the sob tears its way out of his body, Alexei’s chest catches it, catching him.

* * *

He sees the check happen from the other side of the rink, Mashkov slamming into Jeff, and he’s there, gloves dropped before he can help it. Mashkov doesn’t seem to have been expecting it, and Kent gets the first hit in, gold band glittering on his hand as he swings back, before the other man shoves him back into Jeff.

Three more players have joined, shoving into each other and swinging before the ref arrives, and Kent hears someone shout, “ Give it up, Parse !” before he grins.

“ Ma didn’t raise a quitter, “ he says, swinging for Mashkov again, knowing the cameras picked that up with the roar of the crowd.

After the game, Kent’s shouldering his back, Snapback on backwards, as he makes his way over to the Falconers locker room. Alyosha’s waiting for him, already on the phone, and the man grins when he sees Kent. “ Phone call for you, “ he says, handing it over as he throws an arm around Kent’s shoulders, squeezing gently.

Kent’s surprised, but takes the cell phone anyway, already hearing the New York accent through the receiver:

“ Kent Parson ! I say I didn’t raise a goddamn quitter, but I didn’t raise a fool either, stop dropping your gloves and so help me, if your husband comes to dinner next week with another black eye, I will give you something to complain about !”


End file.
